


Slips of the Tongue

by tatterdemalionAmberite (amberite)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aphasia, Beforan ex-helmsman Mituna, Beforus, Canon Disabled Character, Clothing Kink, Face-Sitting, Genderfluid Character, Light BDSM, Nook Worship, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Size Kink, Skateboard Sex, Skateboarding, Teasing, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 02:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1881855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberite/pseuds/tatterdemalionAmberite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you can't words the way you meant. Other times, why would you even want to?</p><p>Prompt: "Mituna tends to feel more dominant on hir girl days, so zie puts on hir cutest outfit and doms the hell out of Latula, who's enthusiastically into it. Think feel-good happysex with kink elements. Bonus: receiving penetration is the dominant-coded act for trolls, Mituna has a serious size kink and Latula is really well endowed."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slips of the Tongue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YesVirginia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YesVirginia/gifts).



Sometimes you open your mouth and words just come out. Troll Sigmund Freud would have liked this because usually the words wind up saying what's on your mind more than you anticipated they would. So you try to tell Latula that you want to get this night started and after a frustrating moment of waiting for language to travel through your convoluted brain to mouth filter it comes out, "Let's get tarted." And then you end up smirking real hard, because that sounds like a good idea as soon as you hear yourself.

"Well, shit, babe," she says, rolling over where she's been lying on her stomach in the lawnring, idly navigating through character screens on her Game Girl. The entertainment grub custom biogen kiosk had Latula covering an extra shift last night and she's announced a desire for some serious R&R. "That sounds fantastic. Count me in." She scrambles to her feet, hands on her wide hips, which you envy sometimes, though she's assured you that your narrow ones are pretty fucking awesome to her; she locks arms with you grinning and you nearly lose your balance jogging toward the hive with her, making it in through the hiveportal tripping over each other, heading for your closet. "Are we going the full deal this time?"

You mangle an affirmative up with trying to find the name of the piece of clothing you want to be wearing and end up with, "Of corset." 

"Oh I _see_ ," she says and grabs down the hanger with the garment clipped onto it, along with the frilly red and blue miniskirt; you're pulling on thigh-highs marked with your sign, yellow on black, wriggling your toes into the ends. You haven't really gotten all that dressed since waking up and it's not too hard to take off your T-shirt, leaving the panties you threw on earlier, which read NOW YOU'RE THINKING WITH PORTALS. "Damn, girl," Tula says. "Hungry in that hella dope nook tonight, yeah?"

"Hungry like the nookie monster," you say, smirking, and she laughs delightedly. "Do the - string and holes fabric back thing? Fuck." _Lace me up_ is what you mean, and the words arrive an annoying thirty seconds later, but she's already hiking the corset up around your waist and running the laces expertly through eyelets, stroking her finger over the places in your back where you used to have hardware; sometimes you're weirdly sensitive there, and you shudder and purr appreciatively. 

You called in a favor from Porrim to get this made, as she refused to believe you needed it for physical therapy; it's fake moobeast hide with hard metal structural support, and the shaping effect presses your small rumble spheres together and pushes them up, making them stand out more, and you exhale experimentally and glance sidelong at yourself in the mirror. "Fuck yeah." Latula runs a hand down your side; there's a thin stretchy panel there over the row of your grubscars, and you breathe in through your teeth at the sensation. You try to say _I wanna ride you like a skateboard_ and some of the words in the middle come out scrambled. This is not exactly a good verbal night, although your coordination seems to be doing okay; you succeed at pulling your hair into a pair of shaggy pigtails that mostly stick straight out instead of hanging down.

Latula just quirks a patient eyebrow, says, "You're gonna have to run that by me again, but it sounded pretty radtastic. Ride me on a skateboard, did you say?"

"I like that virgin better." You meant another word that sounded like that, so you extemporize a bit. "No, I like you better, and you're not a virgin." She gets what you meant, though. You miss flying, and right now fucking her senseless while in motion sounds amazing. It couldn't have been a better idea if you'd suggested it on purpose.

"Your wheels or mine?"

You think about that for a minute and settle on grabbing your own board. It's got some extra stabilization hardware that makes it less likely to tip you over into a ditch in the middle of getting your business on. The hive you share with Latula has a pretty spacious lawnring and a long sloping walk - she brings in a decent pay deposit and your disability pension doesn't suck - but you're going to need something flatter for this, because living dangerously is only fun until you wind up knocking yourself in the face instead of burying your face in her knockers. "The... umm, round, granite -" The name looms just out of reach. "Dickfin dungeon." That's not it, but she'll know what you mean. 

"The Concrete Palace?" she asks, and you nod. "All _right_ ," she says, and you pause to grab a couple of small objects and shove them into the garter-bands of your thigh-highs before heading out.

~

The ride to arrive at your destination is pretty fucking fun, because you're both dressed and neither of you really wants to be. This is made moreso by the vibration of the road under your skateboard. Tula is steering, mostly, and you're grateful for the stabilizers more than once because you're playing distract-the-driver, running your fingers over her sheath through her clothes until her bulge is starting to emerge, and when you run your finger up the length of the slit and feel the thick tendril damp through her panties and leggings under her dress, she yells out a curse and swerves; the board keeps you on course. You had to use a WYSIWYG interface to engineer it, because your 'pan doesn't always cooperate with arithmetic anymore, but flying a starship gave you an understanding of kinetics that's never really faded.

And finally you emerge on the walkway into a familiar lawnring, riding behind her and hanging on.

"Some trolls have more build grist than they know what to do with," Tula says, somewhere between impressed and sneering. You've both been here before, the sprawling ruin of an abandoned seadweller vacation home - built to be underwater, but the water is all gone, leaving a cracked basin with a mostly flat floor, and sloping sides that are great for practicing jumps. 

There's only one kind of jumping you're interested in right now, though, and you laugh and run your claws gently up along her grubscars until you're cupping her sizable rumble spheres. She gives a full-body squirm and a chirring sigh.

"Good thing we, we know what to do it." There was supposed to be a 'with' in there somewhere. _Oh well._

"We _hella_ know what to do it, babe." 

She brings you down the side of the pool and coasts to a stop in the weed-broken concrete basin.

"You, uh. If I uh exceed parameters -" You do this kind of thing enough to know each other's typical limits, but it's still good to have a reminder.

"I know. XYZZY." Her safeword used to be the Troll Konami Code until you both realized that there were too may other possible reason to say _up_ or _down_ during sex, leading to comical accidental stoppages.

You pick her up and turn her around - she may be highblood large, but you stay in good shape - then set her down on her back on the skateboard and hike her leggings down around her thighs, rubbing a teasing hand over her panties before pulling those down too. Fuck, you've really got her going, she's managed to almost completely unsheathe with her clothes still on. Her bulge springs out and she groans from the sudden relief as the pressure is released, but after one stroke of your hand you let go. It sometimes takes a while to prepare your nook to take her; she's pretty big. 

Back before you fried your psionic cores pulling a passenger liner out of a jump gone wrong, you'd have probably prepared yourself with your powers, but there are still a lot of foreplay options. "You, uh, which way - sit on your face or you watch me with my f-fingers -" 

"Fuck, yeah, bring that nook over here -" So you do; you tug your panties off, only briefly getting them caught on your boots. Your own two-pronged bulge is poking out like a snake's tongue; both halves together are still smaller than Tula's, which you're not so much studiously ignoring as staring at and grinning, and you kneel over her, with the back of your miniskirt dangling in her face and your feet behind her head. It's a pretty large skateboard, so there's room for her ass on it, and her feet dangle down on the ground.

Latula looks uncertain what to do with her hands. Once you'd have had an easy answer, but now you can barely manage undirected sparks, and it usually gives you a migraine. But there are other ways to play this game; you grab her wrists and bring them to the ground on either side of the board. "You're - still d, still driving." She can't see behind her, but the safeties won't let the board hit the wall, and there's a slight change in slope near it anyway; you're pretty sure she can navigate by feel. 

She pushes off, walking the skateboard slowly forward, trying to get the hang of this position. It's wobbly at first, but the board adjusts to how it's being controlled and pretty soon you're picking up some speed. And then pretty soon after that you're yelling. "Ff- ffuck, eat me -" because her tongue is doing its best bulge imitation and your nook is going crazy for it, pulsing like it's trying to tug her tongue deeper than actually possible. Both your bulge and Latula's are waving freely in the air, except that you're using your hands to restrain yours, okay, maybe and touch it a little; Tula gets to lie there more and more hot and bothered, her bulge writhing hard against nothing. It can't even reach her clothes; you pulled them down just a little too far for that, and she's too big in that department to fuck her own nook without help. 

She mumbles something against your nook and you ease off a little, raising your ass up. "What's, uh, what's happen -" The skateboard is gliding gently under its own momentum. 

"You ready yet, honeybee?" she asks, almost shyly.

"I don' - don't know, maybe have to convince me -" Your body's definitely convinced and she knows it, but it embarrasses her a little to have to ask, embarrasses her in a good way.

"Please, babe," she mumbles. Even though her skin is cooler than yours you can still feel her cheeks heating up against your thighs.

"Huh? Sorry, skateboard noise -" Yeah, it's a transparent excuse to get her to talk dirty; what else is new.

She whines a little as she speaks up more clearly. "Please, fuck me, please ride my bulge, I love your warm nook so much, I'm so flushed I'm dizzy, babe, help me -"

"You - sure you want that, Tula, you're - get all," fuck, what's the word, "incomplete combustion," that's not it and you barely manage to say it intelligibly anyway but she knows what you mean, she can almost never come without her nook touched, just gets more and more worked up by contact to her bulge, and you're pretty sure she _does_ want exactly that but you're enjoying playing the game. 

"I know, I know, babe, I'm chill with that, I love what you do to me," she says, and for all the easy nonchalance in the words her voice is rough and squeaks at the edges. 

"Maybe - not 'nough docking space," you stall, "Don't know if - can take all that-" It's mostly a joke, you've ridden her bulge so many times before, but it _is_ looking massively inflated down there, more so than usual. 

Still, you mainly said it to hear the lovely desperate moan she makes, the way her voice goes shaky on the next " _Please_ ," because she doesn't know how long you're going to make her wait, and if that's not gorgeously piteous you don't know what is. 

"- Gonna try," you say through a giant smirk, and even though she can't see your face she can almost certainly hear it in your voice. "Gotta - stop ride -" Latula puts her feet down so the slowly drifting skateboard squeaks to a halt, and you get up, maneuver around carefully to face her and straddle her hips. Your nook is dripping wet and dilated wide, and your bulge tries to tangle hers before you shove it up and out of the way, but you take your own sweet time lowering yourself over her. "Gon - fuck you limp," you growl and her bulge probes at you, trying to pull deeper, but you hover for a long moment before letting it further in, and even when you do, you were right, she's usually not quite _this_ thick at the base until you've had her in you for a while so it takes time to get her deeper. You shake your hips experimentally; even that doesn't quite do it, the widest taper of her tendril is still not quite in, even as the tip is curling inside you and making you squirm. But it does make Latula shudder all over and roll her head back and forth on the skateboard, overcome with pleasure and frustration.

"Please," she says again in a soft whine, " _ohhhhh,_ " and you stop moving. 

"Roll us," you say, grinning, demanding, not caring that you mash the words, and she does. "Faster," and now this is getting exciting, wheels catching on cracks in the ground and sending vibrations through both of you, the exhilarating sense of motion in your bones - You clench around her and unclench and slide your nook just a little further down and she howls, tipping her head back and rocking her hips up and you come for the first time right then and there, grunting and swaying and hanging on with your knees, spurting gold genesludge over your skirt and her dress, shouting obscenities at the top of your lungs because there's no one there to hear.

And then you stop. Not going forward - she's still moving the board, gliding along the curve of the empty pool's wall, but you go still again and flash a big smug grin at Tula. She's looking at you pleadingly and her bulge is squirming, the tip coiling and uncoiling in your center, _fuck_ , that feels good, but you sort of need the pause and even if you didn't - you love to see her like this, eyes going bigger and bigger, bulge lodged in you completely, desperate and lustful and frustrated. " _Ohh,_ you - awful, smug - I _need_ -" 

She starts taking the board along the weedy flat pool floor faster. Starts rocking up and down on the board, which sways and rights itself; rolls her hips in little jolts to get friction - and you just sit there, riding along until finally you collapse forward, keeping your hips still, keeping her bulge snugly inside you, and lick a stripe from her collarbone to her chin. Her pulse is going double time, skin cool on your tongue, and she moans, a long drawn-out sound of need, and you kiss her hard and taste yourself on her mouth. You don't even so much as squeeze your nook. It's difficult not to; it gets more difficult the harder she lashes in you. 

"Nnn- now," you say, spluttering a little around the words - it almost hurts to keep yourself this still, you've always needed a lot of movement but the skateboard motion helps, rolling forward, faster and faster with Latula taking her tension out through her hands, paddling along the ground - "Gonna ggg, give you -" 

You reach into the band of one stocking, pull out something that jingles, and your hand only shakes a little, and you're watching her face really carefully because she's only a sometimes masochist, and what you see is good, really good. Her face goes even more brightly teal than it was before and her lips purse and she says, " _Oh,_ " and looks at you with eyes that are equal parts expectant and quietly entranced. 

You make a coy " _Shhhhh_ " noise at her until she's grinning, properly scandalized by the faux-pale display, and pull her dress further up until her sides are exposed, until it's hiked up all the way over her rumble spheres. Then you squeeze the first grubscar clamp open and settle it over the top nub on one side, then the other, so the chain dangles across her middle.

The board drifts under you, repels itself from a wall and glides to a slow stop as her hands lift and clench into fists. She's panting, chest heaving hard with each breath, a long moan coming from her mouth, her eyes hazing over with pleasure. Your hands have started trembling from trying to focus, there's too much going on physically and every time her bulge twitches in you it drives you about out of your head, but you're pretty sure you can manage - yes. You grab the other set from the band on your other stocking and start in on the lower set of grubscars. 

When the third clamp goes on she's whimpering continuously, and you touch her face, checking in, stammering her name. The way she smiles slackly against your hand and musters a quiet purr tells you what you need to know. You fiddle with the fourth until it opens to the right width and slide it smoothly down and let go, and her whole torso arches into the air, writhing back and forth, her hips quaking and rocking up so hard your nook almost hurts with the stretch of trying to take her deeper, and you shout and curse and just barely keep your balance. 

"Got a question for me?" you manage, and she just barely nods her head, looking up at you glazed-eyed and desperate and rocking her body up and down. Fuck, you think you might come again just from her bucking under you so intensely and her bulge curling and lashing, but you want to wait, so you brace your hands on her sides to steady the both of you. "G'on, ass me -"

"Please," she says and her voice is almost a whisper but oddly distinct in its desperation - "Please put something in me -"

"That wasn't a question," you answer back, not willing to resist a chance to be a smartass, but she's quivering on the edge, her whole body rigid-tense and needy, and you know your timing, so you do anyway, reaching down behind your ass with the finger that you keep claw-trimmed for just this reason. 

The tip goes in and Latula _breaks_ , arching up again and dragging in a deep gasp of air that comes out sobbing, she's been so close for so long and so good, letting you take her bulge for so long, you're riding toward a second climax and you're holding on long enough to tug at the chains between the clamps, gently, catching them both at once in your other hand while keeping your finger just barely in her entrance, and her whole body rocks from end to end as she makes perfect breathless overcome noises, keening and groaning deep and ragged in her throat - she just _keeps_ coming, her nook pulsing out material around your finger, her bulge shuddering in you, slicking down your insides until you're leaking out swirly green around her, all over both of your thighs and the skateboard, and you're just barely holding back - 

Her hands reach up and drag down the sides of your corset, clutching at your grubscars, and that's it, you're toppling over figuratively and literally, and the thing your legs do when you sprawl out on her chest with a _hfff_ of air knocked out of yours makes the skateboard push off again and hurtle forward, the automated steering taking it in a zigzag down the winding course of the empty waterway. This time you're coming twice as hard as the first time, utterly soaking whatever remained clean on your skirt and stockings, your arms twitching and shaking at your sides and your nook clamping down in a cascade of spasms, squirting out dribbles of genetic material that trail behind the board; you wonder if someone will find it and think it's blood, _ooh, spooky_ , and the incongruous thought makes you giggle breathlessly. You wonder if anyone else is inventive enough to figure out that this is a wonderful place to fuck. You kind of hope not. 

The board coasts out into a patch of moonlight and Latula finally goes limp under you, sated, breathing out a soft "...aaaahhhhh." You're pretty fucking done (and pretty done fucking, and also fucking pretty) yourself, and you have just enough awareness left to kiss her cheek clumsily and mumble something to her about how fantastic she's been.


End file.
